


Protecting Their Own

by Loremaiden



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Hiatus, Prompt Fic, Scotland Yard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:12:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loremaiden/pseuds/Loremaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Yarders look after their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protecting Their Own

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to JWP #24 (Picture Prompt--Man With Pipe) on Watson's Woes.
> 
> Picture Prompt--Man With Pipe (Self-Portrait)

Lestrade sat at his desk in his office, his fingers excavating the sand out of his bleary eyes. The adrenaline of catching the art thieves late last night had run its course hours ago, and he was hoping his coffee would perk him up enough to tackle the paperwork.

He was about to pick up his pen when Gregson knocked on his open door. Lestrade wearily waved him and an accompanying Hopkins inside.

"You two are looking disgustingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning."

Gregson smirked. "Too bad I can't say the same for you, ferret-face. Congratulations on your catch, by the way."

"Thank you, we were able to nib the gang before they sold the painting off."

Hopkins' eyes then wandered to the large object resting in the corner and covered in a drab cloth. "Is that it?"

"Yes it is. We're storing it here until the curators can send some of their workmen to collect it."

Hopkins, always eager to assist, offered a suggestion. "Gregson and I will deliver it if that's easier..."

"Oh, we will?"

"...we can grab some constables to give us a hand--"

Lestrade barked harshly, "Absolutely not! We were lucky enough the painting wasn't damaged during the arrest! I did my job; let the museum people do theirs."

Gregson put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Besides Hopkins, that painting is easily worth more than we are."

"The frame _alone_ probably costs more than all our salaries put together five times over." Lestrade's voice dropped back to a normal level. "Sorry lad, I didn't mean to snap at--"

A constable then came to the door and cleared his throat. "Doctor Watson's in the lobby and ready to see you about the Jones autopsy, sir. Shall I escort him to your office?"

Then the bark was back in full force, but this time with added anxiety. " _No_! Tell him-- _damn_ \--tell him I'm busy and that I'll meet him in..." He quickly looked at the clock, which read eight. "Two hours! Tell Watson two hours! He can't be anywhere near my office until then, understand?"

The constable became slightly flummoxed, and exchanged bemused looks with the other two inspectors as Lestrade practically pounced on the door handle. "What shall he do in the meantime, sir?"

"I don't know! Come up with something! Take him out for breakfast for all I care! But keep him away from here!" Lestrade then slammed the door shut in the constable's surprised face.

Gregson and Hopkins watched Lestrade, who had returned to his desk and slumped back in his chair.

Gregson was the first to break the long uneasy silence after Lestrade's unexpected outburst. "What was _that_ all about?"

The inspector scrubbed a hand over his face. "I don't want Watson looking at the painting."

"Why?"

Lestrade polished off the dregs of his now cold brew and then quietly stated, "It's a Vernet."

Comprehension dawned on Hopkins' face. Gregson, however, was still confused. "Not his favorite artist?"

Hopkins explained, his voice soft and respectful. "Mr. Holmes is--was--related to the Vernets. Remember the Greek Interpreter case?"

Lestrade rose from his seat again and walked over to the covered painting. "The artist isn't the only reason."

As he ever so delicately removed the cloth, both inspectors looked at the mysterious work, and then they fully appreciated Lestrade's wish to keep the doctor away from it.

The self-portrait looked nothing like Holmes physically, but spiritually they could sense the resemblance. The ornate pipe, the bohemian fashion, the shoes that looked like the one he had used to store his tobacco all brought back memories of the eccentric detective. Even the detail of the sword haphazardly resting on the chair right next to the palette reminded them of their visits to Baker Street.

Lestrade gently replaced the cloth, the ghost in the canvas banished from their sight. "It's only been five months. He's still in mourning clothes. The man's been through enough grief, and the last thing he needs is a fresh reminder. I don't want to risk his curiosity or his artistic knowledge, either. The workmen should arrive within the next two hours to pick it up, and the sooner the bloody thing is out of here, the better."

The other men silently nodded in agreement. The Yarders protected their own, and they all considered Watson as their own.

Hopkins opened the door a crack and stole a quick glance before opening it fully. "The coast is clear, Gregson. If I see the doctor poking around before ten, I'll be sure to point him in the opposite direction. Good luck, sir."

Gregson clapped Lestrade's shoulder in support as he also turned to leave. "My shift doesn't start for another hour; I'll make my way to the museum and I'll get their arses in gear."

Lestrade snorted, his humor returning. "Why would those artistic toffs follow a lowly Inspector's orders on the fly?"

Gregson grinned. "I'll tell 'em wasting the Yard's time waiting for a pick-up is a finable offense."


End file.
